


The Gentlewoman's Daughter

by Blemmigan



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Sunless Skies
Genre: Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blemmigan/pseuds/Blemmigan
Summary: In visiting an unmarked place between lines on the map, I found myself taken in by a mother's anguish, and making a promise that I was wholly unfit to keep.





	The Gentlewoman's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> A short story based in the world of Sunless Skies. At the time of writing, I’ve not yet explored Eleutheria (and probably half of Albion), so hopefully it clashes with nothing revealed/released in those additions.
> 
> Still, I enjoyed writing something for fun, and attempted in the spirit of the game.

I had once taken a commission to transport an incredible amount of chorister-nectar across the Reach, and it did not take long for the sickly odour to permeate the whole train. Two days in the sky were more than enough for the crew to grow restless, easily imagining the recirculated air thick with sugar in every breath.

So when supplies began to run low, instead of waiting until the next scheduled port, I agreed for the Unquiet Cartographer to direct us to the next homestead. Aside from the main cargo, we had goods to trade, and sovereigns to spare. Not to mention that we were making good time, and so I deemed it an acceptable change of plans.

As it was, the next homestead was an impressive sight, even though the murk of carnelian-hued glass. I could see that the main building was spired and jagged, as though it had burst organically from the rock, with smaller structures scattered modestly at its feet. Closer still, there appeared geometrically perfect lawns and carefully-arranged shrubs, everything bordered with hedges and walls, and a dense but neat line of trees around the edges of the land: one could almost believe that a fastidious giant had reached down and set everything in place to look pristine at this distance.

It was only when the Thespian began the process of docking the train, however, that I caught sight of a single living soul. The soul in question was a woman running down the long, carefully-laid road towards us, one arm waving frantically as the other hand sought to keep her from tripping over her skirts. She seemed determined that we were not to land, but the train had already aligned with the bay's magnetic clamps, and it really would have been more effort than it was worth to pull away. At the very least, I could inquire as to what had the young woman so upset.

"There was nothing on the radio save the honing signal, Captain," the Lovesick Chaplain insisted as I walked past, indignant shouts now audible outside. I dismissed his excuses with a wave and opened the door.

I reached solid ground just in time for the welcoming party of one to arrive. Up close, she looked even more frantic: clean, but disordered, dressed in a servant's modest black dress, strands of hair torn loose from her sensible bun. "This..." she began, before gasping and bending double to catch her breath.

The Wheezing Hussar disembarked as I was waiting for the woman to continue, already lighting a cigarillo. I forbade the smoking of his particular vile brand on-board, but now that he had stepped out he was free to continue his personal vendetta against any form of fresh air.

"This... this is private property," the dishevelled maid finally told me, drawing herself up to her full height and trying to see high enough to make eye contact.

"You have my sincere apologies," I replied, as politely as possible. "I saw nothing to indicate that, and nothing that my signaller could pick up on. But," I added, in case she tried to continue berating me, "if the owner of this... delightful homestead would permit it, my crew would appreciate having the chance to restock our supplies."

She was looking past me in something like horror, and I turned to see the rest of the crew bustling to leave the train, several doors propped open to try and let out the festering sweet air. Somebody had opened the door to the hold, and the Resolute Hireling had taken that as a prompt to start rolling out barrels for trade.

"Ah, no," I said quickly, attempting to shoo the clay man back into the train. "Not here, thank you. We've still a way to travel yet."

He stared back at me for a moment, before grunting and lifting a barrel up to his chest, staggering back on board. Thankfully it was not full of the sickly nectar, but a container stamped by the Ministry, denoting hours in need of refining. Never the most profitable of purchases, but even substandard hours could find a buyer in the right places.

"Well, she's off," the Hussar said helpfully, using his old cigarillo to light a new one, a smog already forming around his shoulders.

Indeed, the dishevelled maid had hitched up her skirts and made the frantic run back to the grand house, without so much as a word. Apparently the sight of a clay man lumbering towards her had been enough to break her resolve entirely.

The Charmless Thespian had finally left the train, confident that the locomotive had been securely docked, and now she spoke. "Don't think she said that we couldn't stay," she pointed out.

"Quite." Perhaps we would have better luck appealing to the charitable side of her employer. And if not their charitable side, then the side that wouldn't mind a few sovereigns in exchange for something to eat. If nothing else, the walk up to the estate would be a welcome change from the cramped locomotive. Clear air could do wonders for the constitution. "Come on, then. If you wouldn't mind staying with the train?" I nodded at the navigator.

"Why me?" asked the Cartographer, with an irritated twitch. A charming young man for the most part, but one fit to outbursts of profanity when his nerves got the better of him. Although neither I nor the crew are troubled by his tics, I find it best to err on the side of caution when it comes to dealing with the upper classes. It was, after all, precisely that sort of misunderstanding that caused him to flee to the skies.

"I'll need you to keep an eye on the Hireling," I said, diplomatically. "Please try to stop him from unloading the entire contents of the train." The clay man had only been part of the crew for a month, and still sometimes got carried away with any given task. Or, if no tasks had been allocated, carried away with anything that might keep him busy. Once I had returned to the galley to find all the mismatched cutlery laid out on the tables by order of length. Surprisingly delicate work, albeit not in any way useful. "The rest of you? Come on."

The _Tentative_ is not a small vessel, but much of it is taken up with the cargo hold. At the time of these events it was staffed by a crew of eight, including myself. So it was that six of us took the brisk walk up to the house, relishing the chance to stretch our legs properly. I was also hoping that it would give the dishevelled maid time to talk to her employer, and give them time to warm up to the idea of receiving visitors, not to mention feeding them.

The Physician fell in step beside me, even though she kept her eyes fixed on the looming structure up ahead. "It's quite an intimidating sight. One can only imagine the kind of person who might live here." She was not one to make small talk, so I simply waited for her to make the point she was meandering towards. "I think it was a good idea to leave the Cartographer behind, to avoid offence."

"Even without him, we have a chance of causing it," I sighed.

Many locomotive crews were made up of odds and ends, of people who found their lives to be a loose screw in the great machines of city life. I had grown to know and trust those who worked for me, but nearly all of them had drifted aboard when leaving various ports, like flotsam left behind after a receding tide. The overall appearance therefore was not one of order and discipline, but a mixture of vagrants and potential criminals: in short, not a group one would choose to invite to afternoon tea. But with an appearance like mine, I hardly placed much value on looks, and particularly not when I knew how well my crew worked together.

The Illustrated Physician smiled, clearly not worried so much as curious about where we had landed. She was certainly one used to stares and speculation, but today she looked as plain and modest as a governess. Only a sparrow's wing stretching out of her throat-high collar gave any clue as to her previous life: dress, gloves and boots covered the rest of her skin. Before I knew her, perhaps even before her medical training, she lived in Old London with her father, and even now she radiated order and civility: at least, when she deemed it necessary. “Would you prefer me to do the talking, Captain?”

I bristled, despite myself. “I hardly think that would be appropriate.”

The Hussar chuckled, but we had already arrived at the steps to the mansion, and he was making a show of putting away the cigarillo he had been in the middle of smoking, apparently disappointed that he had only managed to get through half a dozen in one sitting. If nothing else, he had the self-awareness to realise his habit would be unwelcome in a place like this.

There was no sign of the dishevelled maid, but the door opened after a single knock, revealing a hall porter who looked me over with an expression of clear disapproval. Like the grounds around us, he was immaculate, appearing for all the world as though he had stepped freshly out of a tailor’s fitting room. In contrast, my crew and I were already covered in dust from the short trek up the pathway, not to mention still recovering from our long journey, and with a lingering smell of chorister-nectar.

“May I help you?” he asked, in a manner that indicated he hoped not.

I opened my mouth, but the Hussar had already stepped forward. “My friend, so good of you to greet us. We briefly had a chat with a young lady down at the dock, and I do believe that your employer is expecting us.”

For all his faults, of which there are a great many, the Hussar has the air of a man entirely in control of any situation, and many a stubborn merchant has been swept along by the confidence he exudes. I watched as the doorman’s countenance faltered, his confidence wavering, clearly without much experience in a situation such as this.

“My employers do not receive many visitors,” he attempted, uncertainly.

“Then what a wonderful surprise for them! Where precisely should we be waiting?”

I decided to say nothing as the porter reluctantly allowed us through and the Hussar winked at me. I briefly considered the maid, and what had happened to her, but she appeared to have vanished into the rooms and recesses of the building around us.

And what a building! I am still reluctant to call it a house, remembering the sheer size and impression of it. Here in the High Wilderness, space is no longer limited, yet our language is still weighted down by our old sense of scale. A mansion, a manor, a palazzo: a home with the magnitude of a castle but the shape and design of a country estate, for those who have more acres and old money than they know what to do with. I could not help but wonder how long it would have taken to transform an empty rock, floating in nothingness, into a home and gardens quite like this.

The parlour in which we had settled ourselves to wait (with much hand-wringing from the doorman, and frantic whispering amongst the household staff) was panelled splendidly in bronzewood. The floor, too, had been polished ruthlessly, to the point that it exuded a deep crimson glow: by comparison the fine bronzewood panels inside the _Tentative_ might as well have been made of splintering offcuts. The burgundy rugs must have been years in the making from some workworld, and everywhere were ornaments, old books, globes, and cabinets filled with delicate statuettes.

The Hussar had taken it upon himself to open the heavy curtains, allowing in some light through the large windows, and the delicate glow from the nebulae above gave the room an almost ethereal feel. I knew, of course, that it was a room designed to impress, but it certainly had the desired effect. Although I had stood in my fair share of outlandish houses, this was still enough to make me second-guess my decision to invite myself here: anyone who commissioned and lived in a place like this had to be very rich, and just as influential.

Painted portraits decorated the walls, and the stern faces of those responsible stared down. Most of them were of the same four, such as in the painting closest to where I waited. A tall, handsome man stood in the centre, while an equally handsome woman sat by his side, both of them in the prime of life. In front of the man stood a girl, perhaps fourteen, holding a book and pointing at some paragraph, and an even younger boy stood by his mother, holding onto her skirts. Or was she the children’s mother? The would-be parents seemed barely old enough, yet the girl had the same red hair as the woman, and the same sharp features as the man. Clearly some liberties had been taken by the artist to flatter the parents, yet the family had deemed it respectable enough to hang it in the front parlour for all guests to see.

“Come now, Captain, you’ll meet them soon enough.” The Hussar seemed entirely at home, half-sprawled on a luxurious armchair beside a stone bust of Her Enduring Majesty. “Sit.”

The rest of the crew seemed ill at ease, standing looking awkwardly at the various decorations or sitting uncomfortably, as though they were worried that they might damage the furniture. I kept an eye on the Thespian, who was picking up small ornaments and examining them, as though considering which ones would not be missed.

The door opened suddenly, and a broad-shouldered man who I took to be the head butler stepped into the room. Whatever his role was, he was comfortable in it, and unlike the weak-willed attitude of the porter he seemed calm and in control of any situation, greeting us with an assertive nod. “Please, follow me.”

I took hold of the Hussar’s arm as he started to leave, stopping him in his tracks. “This is a short visit,” I told him, quietly.

“It may well be, once they see us,” he replied, moustache twitching into a smile.

“Listen to me. We clearly don’t belong here. With any luck, he’ll send us to the servant’s quarters with some food to take with us—likely at an exorbitant price—and we can be back on course. I don’t care if you want an invitation to a ball or a hand in marriage, you will _not_ tell your lies to these people and try to get involved. You have an obligation, and this is not the time for you to play high society.”

“Really?” That stopped him, at least. “And are you telling me this as my friend, or my captain?”

“As your friend, I’m asking you not to tell your usual tall tales and end up in something all of us will regret. And as your captain, I’m ordering you to do as you’re told for once in your g_____n life.”

I let go of his arm, and he resumed his smile. “I understand, _Captain_.”

Of course I felt like an encumbrance, but I knew him too well and for too long to stay silent. It had been the Hussar with whom I’d travelled through the Avid Horizon, and he the captain of the first _Tentative_ that we had won in a card game, waterlogged and broken zee ship she was. And he was as infuriating now as he had always been. I trusted him, but never on anything as superficial as a promise.

“Put those back,” I told the Thespian as the rest of us left, and she scowled before almost throwing her pilfered collection on the nearest table.

We followed the assertive butler through the house: back through the hall, up half a dozen stairs, past a dining room the size of my entire locomotive. Midway along a narrow corridor, he turned aside to address me. “You are the captain, I take it?”

His words took me entirely by surprise. I freely admit that I am often overlooked, as few take someone like me to be the captain of even a pleasure boat. “Yes,” I replied, in case he had been addressing someone else after all.

The butler nodded, then held up a hand to indicate that we stop. He turned, and looked over my crew, as though he was having second thoughts. “My lady has requested to see you personally, perhaps with a select few members of your crew. She is...” He faltered, clearly not wanting to speak ill of his employer. “She is in great need of your assistance.”

My heart sank, and I did my best not to look at the Hussar, who had done a splendid job of keeping quiet up until now. “I’m afraid I may not be of much use. My locomotive is a merchant vessel: unless your household is in need of unrefined hours, there is very little I can do to assist.”

He looked at me strangely, then towards a door to his left. “If the rest of your crew would wait in here, my staff will see to it that they are fed.” The assertive butler turned to me again. “Why did you come here, Captain?”

I waited until half of the crew had filed out eagerly, leaving only three of us: me, the Hussar, and the Physician. Although I had not spoken it aloud, they would have been my choice of company, being the two I trusted the most, if for entirely different reasons. I could only hope that the Thespian would keep her hands and opinions to herself while out of sight.

Now, the question had been a critical one. My answer was too simple to match the tone in which it was asked, but I had no desire to lie in an attempt to put him at ease. “Our supplies are running low,” I answered, “and we hoped to restock here, if possible. I’m afraid there’s no more substantial reason.”

He looked as though he wished to say something else, but considered it above his station to do so. Instead, he nodded. “I will allow the lady of the house to explain to you further. All I ask is that you give her request some very real consideration.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away. I liked none of this, but I had no option but to follow, my two crew members at my back, down the remainder of the corridor.

The butler knocked on a door, and opened it to reveal a drawing room where a gentlewoman sat demurely, dressed in black and focused on her needlework.

“The captain, my lady.”

The woman looked up, and I saw at once that she was the same as from the painting, just as young and elegant as depicted. Her face however was solemn rather than stern, and she hurriedly placed her needlework on a side table and stood up eagerly, the butler standing by the door to ensure that she was not left alone.

“Thank you for receiving us, my lady,” I managed. Formal situations have always been something of a minefield to me, and for this I was grateful to have the Physician present. From her flustered demeanour, however, she gave the impression that etiquette was the last thing on her mind.

She had been looking at the Hussar, of course, and turned to me in surprise. “I… yes, of course. I must admit, I’m pleased you called. I have a favour to ask, one that is of great importance.”

I could hardly conjure a reasonable excuse without hearing the favour in question, so I allowed her to continue without interruption.

“I wouldn’t normally be asking this of strangers, of course, but I…” She dabs at her face with a handkerchief. “But if you have a locomotive, I have to request your help.

“My child… my daughter… a fortnight ago, perhaps more, she completely vanished. It must have been during the night: her governess went to rouse her and her bed was empty. There has been no sign of her, nothing at all!”

I hardly needed to look at the faces of my crew to know that it would be impossible to say no to a woman crying over the loss of her child, desperate enough to ask help from whomever knocked at her door.

But I was no detective, nor comfortable with reassuring a grieving mother. Even if I had it in me, I simply could not afford to run around the Reach, stopping at every port, purely in pursuit of a missing girl who could be anywhere. I hardly wanted to ask for her to pay my way, not least because doing so would mean I agreed to her task, and I was just as frightened of failure.

The Physician stepped forward. “My lady… is there anywhere in the Reach you think she might be?” she asked, as kindly as possible.

“No!” she answered, almost violently. She stopped to dab at her eyes again, and continued, “I apologise, really I do. But I have thought it over and over, and there is nowhere she would go. When she was very young—such an angel—we lived in New London, but we have nobody there now, and she knows nowhere else but here.”

The Physician looked at me, imploringly, so much so that I had to turn away. My gaze fell on another painting: the family again, in different poses and clothing to the last, but otherwise identical. On the table beneath were smaller, less regal portraits, photographs rather than hours of work on canvas. The girl was in most of them, sometimes with her brother, sometimes with the family. That was her at the piano, and here painting with watercolours, a nervous smile on her face. If the sheer dearth of photographs meant anything, her parents adored her.

The Hussar cleared his throat. “My lady, I cannot promise you the safe return of your daughter. However, I will do what I can to find her.”

He deliberately avoided my eyes as he continued. “If I may, I would like to speak with the people in this house, to better understand the circumstances leading to her disappearance without causing you any further distress.”

The gentlewoman stared at him, and I thought for a moment she would start to cry again. “Thank you,” she said finally. “I was not sure you would agree to help me… I know it is not an easy task, but even an attempt to find her… she is so young, and such a good girl, she needs me… Thank you, Captain. You cannot imagine my gratitude.”

Of course, the Hussar did not point out her mistake, but neither did I. It was not until were escorted back into the corridor by the assertive butler that he spoke up apologetically.

“I thought it would be crass to bother correcting her—”

“Did you not listen to a word I said?” I asked, glancing back at the room we had just left and deciding to quicken my pace before continuing. “Were you aware that I was not simply speaking for my own benefit?”

“Ah, that. I thought it even _more_ crass to deny her. How would _you_ have worded it? ‘Thank you for your hospitality, but no, find her yourself’? ‘Alas, she’s likely already dead’? Which of those would have been your preference?”

“Please,” the Physician interrupted, then turned to me. “I agree that he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. But there is no harm in at least trying to help. Can’t we at look for her at the ports we visit? What harm can it do?”

I felt instantly ashamed. Of course, she was right: I simply assumed that anything less than total success would mean I had gone back on my word, and thought there no way I could find her. Even if she were still in the Reach, there were too many stations, homesteads, settlements—some of them huge, some of them hidden—that there was no guarantee of success. And that was without considering what the Hussar had flippantly mentioned.

“I must agree,” the butler said from ahead, startling me. “Your vessel is not the first from which that my mistress has requested aid. There is no need to consider yourselves wholly responsible. I only ask that you do try. And,” he turned to the Hussar, “if you wish to question my staff, I will permit it.”

Clearly the man was as desperate as the gentlewoman, but had masked it behind his professional demeanour. “Have you been with the family long?” I asked, thinking I already knew the answer.

“Since they moved here,” he replied. “Originally, I was from Lustrum, but left when it became… what it is now. The family accepted my application soon after I fled, and I have been with nobody else. In some senses, they are my own family as much as they are my employers, so I hope you understand that I do care deeply.”

“And the daughter? What is she like?”

He nodded. “Clever in her lessons, obedient to her parents, entirely well-behaved. Quite shy, thought I suppose it’s to be expected of her age. In other words, not one to run away, if that’s what you might think.”

I had been thinking it, but said nothing more on the matter. “Her age is… what, fourteen perhaps?”

He considered it for a good while. “Yes, that seems right.” We stopped at the foot of the staircase, and he added, “I suggest that you talk to her governess, if you wish to know more. She was, after all, the one who knew her best, and who found her bed empty.”

The Hussar and the Physician had been talking in low voices behind us, and whatever the subject, the Physician seemed to have had the upper hand, with the other looking dejected. Either that, or he was already desperate for one of his cigars.

The schoolroom was as neat and imposing as the rest of the house, but the effect was subdued somewhat by the accumulation of toys and other childish things, though stacked as neatly as possible around the edges. In the middle of the room, the boy from the portraits—perhaps six or seven—swung his legs as he pored over a book, his governess sat beside him as he read and wrote.

The assertive butler spoke up: “I’m sorry to intrude.”

The governess looked at us in surprise, while her pupil continued to write. She was short and plain, but not as young as I expected. I assumed that she was one of those women with an aptitude for teaching, rather than one who was simply passing the time with the work until she married. Indeed, I could see even from here that the boy she was tutoring had small and neat handwriting, far from the still-clumsy scribbles on a slate that I had been expecting.

“Ah, so you are…” The plain governess nodded. “Thank you, I will look after them from here.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I will escort them until their investigation ends.”

I could feel the Physician glance at me, something on her mind, but she kept quiet. To my other side, I heard the Hussar murmur “Investigation!”, as though he quite liked the sound of it.

“Of course,” said the governess. “Please, let me know how I can help. I will do whatever I can. Would you like to hear about the… about the day she vanished?”

I nodded. “Anything that you can remember.”

She avoided meeting my eyes as she spoke. “I remember that I was late with waking the children. Usually she would have already awoken her brother, but he was still asleep, and when I went to see if all was well with her...” The governess sighed, eyes closed as she recalled that day. “All was not well. Her bed was still made as though she had not slept, even though she had excused herself from lessons early.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Midway through the last lesson. Her brother had been put to bed, and we had taken a walk in the grounds, as the light was so good and she wanted inspiration for painting. But she took ill partway through, and retired to her room. I didn’t check on her, perhaps I should have. I thought she was old enough to know her own mind, and she had never left the house before at night.”

“You believe she left of her own volition?”

The governess hesitated at the question, as though doubting herself, and the Physician interrupted. “It’s far more likely than a stranger entering the house without notice. I can attest that young women are more than capable of misbehaving when the mood strikes them, regardless of their guardian’s best efforts.” She smiled at the plain governess, who seemed relieved.

“Might she have met someone?” I asked, but the governess shook her head.

“There are so few visitors to this homestead. The dock is so close by, that the clamps can be heard from the house, so any secret visits are impossible. And the staff here… nobody would do her harm, or let anything happen to her,” she said, firmly.

The Hussar had wandered off to look around the schoolroom, and now he called over. “Are these her work?”

He was standing in front of a collection of watercolour studies, spreading them out over the surface of the desk with little regard for neat organisation. I stole a glance at the few on top: they showed swathes of colour, the delicate hues expertly blending into each other, red, orange, pink. Some showed the white dots of far-off stars, others harsh silhouettes of floating rocks.

“Yes,” the governess replied sadly. “She had such talent… we had been studying the High Wilderness, you see, and she was determined to paint the things she read about.” She took the paintings from the Hussar protectively, and began rearranging them into their original sequence. “She loved to paint, and to play piano. And I’m sure you’ve heard how clever she was in her studies. Who knows what she might do with her talents, if she puts her mind to it?”

“How long have you been her governess?” the Hussar asked, already moving on to look at the book titles on the desk.

“For… oh, since her lessons began.”

I put a hand down on top of the book that the Hussar had started to pry open, and shook my head. I had no doubt that he was attempting to look at serious and thorough as he was able, but I doubted the girl had scrawled warnings or plans for escape in the margins of her mathematics books.

“Thank you,” I told her. “And I apologise for interrupting your lesson.”

“You must be an excellent teacher,” the Hussar said, off-handedly. “Do you have an interest in skyfaring yourself?”

I looked down at the book that my hand was placed upon. _The Innermost Workings of the Locomotive_ , read the title. I had dismissed it as mathematics when glancing at the pages, but had clearly failed to recognise engineering equations when I saw them.

The plain governess blushed and laughed at the compliment. “Oh, not at all. My sister was—” She shook her head, returning to the topic at hand. “Please understand, I was not speaking out of pride when I said she was clever. There is only so much I could teach her without relying on books, and I oft had the feeling that she could be teaching me.”

The Hussar chuckled. “But it takes a most polished mind to reflect another’s brightness.”

I had no idea what he was trying to say, but the plain governess smiled shyly, and I had half a mind to take him by the arm and march him out of the room myself. Clearly he had forgotten that he had agreed to play detective, and had fallen into his usual routines.

“I had better check on the crew,” I said, rather loudly than was necessary. “I doubt it was sensible to leave them alone for so long.”

The butler opened the door ahead of us as the governess returned to her remaining student. “I can assure you that they are being looked after. Have you asked all of the questions you need?”

“Yes,” I replied, because who else could I speak with? Surely if somebody had seen anything they would have told somebody by now. And, if they had not told them, then why would they tell a complete stranger?

I looked at the others’ expressions as we were lead back to the rest of the crew. Both seemed deep in thought, though I could only guess at what they were thinking. It was absurd for us to play this game, and I felt it only made us more obvious that we were completely devoid of ideas.

The rest of the crew, for their part, were apparently delighted to see us, or perhaps delighted that they had been fed something other than salted meat and biscuits. The three of them earnestly assured us that they had been provided with leftovers that, although not likely to last, would certainly tide us all over until we reached the next port.

They seemed so enthusiastic that I forwent mention of the task allocated to us by the gentlewoman, and they seemed to have already forgotten the reason for our absence.

“Let’s carry this back,” the Thespian announced, ferrying the other two out of the side door hurriedly, leaving the remaining three of us to say our less-than-heartfelt farewells.

“Here,” the assertive butler told me, and handed me a small scrap of paper. It was a copy of the photograph I had seen in the drawing room, the one of the girl at the piano. She had a serious expression on her face, but her features were well-defined, caught in the half-light of the room. A good likeness for somebody searching, though I have a good memory for faces regardless. I tucked it into the inner pocket of my jacket.

“I hope you find her,” the assertive butler told me, simply, and he closed the door.

We descended the stairs to the kitchen garden. From here I could see the _Tentative_ , and the laughing crew members carrying the small barrels and boxes they had been provided, presumably as payment for our concern. I supposed that I ought to tell them precisely what we had agreed to do. Perhaps at the next port.

The Hussar was already lighting his previous, half-smoked cigarillo. “Do you think the butler did it?” he asked. “I thought the—”

“Oh!” the Physician said, stopping in surprise. Ahead of us, half-hidden between the shrubs and the orangery up ahead, was a slight figure, watching and waiting for us to approach. It was clearly the dishevelled maid we had first seen at the dock, still with the same uncertain expression on her face, although she had straightened her hair and dress.

She beckoned us over as we approached, until we were standing behind the wall with her, the other side of the house. “This building’s not used so much now,” she said, as an explanation. “The plants grow well enough without it, anyway.”

I sensed she was stalling. “Is something the matter?” I asked, as delicately as I could manage.

She decided not to answer in the same tone of voice. “How much did you sell them?” she asked, critically.

“Sell what? We didn’t sell anything,” the Physician assured her. “The lady of the house asked us to help find her daughter.”

To my surprise, the maid burst into tears. I turned to the Hussar helplessly.

“It’s looking at you that does it,” he told me.

The Physician was doing her best to comfort the woman. “You must have known her a long time,” she told her. “But we’ll try to find her.”

“Fifteen years,” she sobbed. “I’ve always done right by them, or thought I was.”

The Hussar stubbed out his cigarillo on the side of the orangery, but didn’t light another. “That is a long time,” he said.

He said it in a strange voice, one that I wasn’t sure I liked to hear. 

“A great deal of pictures in the house, too.”

I was losing my patience. “Spit it out, man, if you’ve something to say.”

It was the Physician who spoke however, kindly, while the maid wiped her face messily with her sleeve. “What do they usually sell? The traders who visit.”

I remembered the Hireling, and the barrels he had tried to unload, and suddenly I already knew. “Hours,” I replied.

“I thought it was an unscheduled delivery,” the maid said. “I was so… I thought the mistress would be so angry, after everything that happened. But she would never buy unrefined, and I’d reached the house before I realised what I’d seen.

“I haven’t been here that long, not like some of them. But they don’t like staff to leave, and the pay’s good, just… oh, those poor children.”

“The staff, I take it, aren’t allowed to share in the family’s habit,” the Hussar said, simply. “As not many of them are young.”

“Comparatively, the children don’t have a choice.” I said, feeling cold. “I don’t like the sound of it, but… the identical portraits, the young parents… how could she do such a thing?”

The maid looked ready to cry again. “She’s terrified they won’t need her any more.”

The Hussar snorted. “Won’t pose for photographs on her knee, I’d wager.” He lit another cigarillo, evidence of his annoyance. “I say we don’t find her, and leave this place.”

“Do you know who helped her escape?” the Physician asked, but the maid only shook her head.

“Please, don’t think badly of them,” she begged, and I could not tell whether she spoke from loyalty or compassion.

I thought of the situation all the way back to the _Tentative_ , and as the ship left the port. I barely paid attention to the Thespian’s new collection of silver cutlery, hardly noticed that the Hireling had apparently been taught to play rummy in my absence. The Cartographer marked the homestead on his map, and although none of us mentioned our abandoned search, I pinned the girl’s picture up on the wall where she stared at me resolutely, determined, mature eyes in a child’s face.

I wondered how long she had been trapped, in herself, in the homestead, and which type of escape had been the greatest relief for her.

*

Half a year passed. I thought I had forgotten about the gentlewoman’s daughter. Instead, my mind was again filled with trade: with numbers, and the infuriating way in which they determined to not add up favourably. So to make up my losses, I was at the bazaar in Port Avon, haggling with an old miner who refused to sell his bottles of souls for a cut price.

That was, of course, when I saw an all-too-familiar face. For a moment, I could not remember why it would be, until I ignored the longer hair and the rough clothes, and saw the serious expression of a girl at a piano. She already looked older, the difference between her in the picture and her before me more obvious than any change in clothing or environment.

I had decided not to approach her, until I saw the woman by her side: she was dressed in captain’s garb and she was unmistakable.

“Have we met?” the woman asked, cautious. “Sorry, it’s hard to recognise a tomb-colonist.”

“No, I don’t believe we have,” I told her. “But your sister—is she a governess?”

By herself, her plain face could have blended into a crowd, but my attention had already been drawn enough to see the obvious likeness. The same colouring, the same stature, and the same features. Her surprise, however, soon gave way to suspicion. “I think you must be mistaken.”

“I’m not here to take her back,” I said, firmly enough to get her attention. I turned to the girl, determined to make myself clear. “I won’t take you back.”

The gentlewoman’s daughter shrugged. “No, you won’t. Not even if you wanted.”

“Your captain’s sister told me, you loved the sky,” I said, then addressed the woman again. “I should have found it obvious. But I didn’t quite realise how similar you looked, enough for nobody to think little of it, were you spotted leaving. Another evening outside, painting the sky. And a skilled driver, waiting at the edge.”

Despite herself, the captain smiled. “She sent back letters, with her earnings, and told me what was going on. She didn’t even need to ask.”

“I don’t hate them,” the girl said, quietly. “I think Ma wanted a way for us all to stay together. Pa was away more and more and...” She looked at me directly. “You never get taken seriously, as a child, or asked what you want. And you don’t know enough to think it’s a bad thing.”

“Send her a letter,” I suggested. “Don’t tell her where you are, but let her know why.”

“She already knows, I think.”

“Maybe. But if she hears it from you, it will mean more than her worries.”

The girl half-nodded, half-shrugged again. “I’ll go back one day, anyway. For my brother. I’ll be old enough for her to take me seriously. I’ll show them both that I’m successful, and a captain, and happy.”

She smiled up into the sky above, eyes filled with dreams and with fire. “And myself.”


End file.
